Blood of My Blood
by MissVictoriaRose
Summary: "My sister is coming with us. We don't go against federal law and break into the Pentagon without each other. It's sort of a twin rule". Jailbreak, fitting reunion for this family.
1. I Know A Guy

"I know a guy… He could get into anywhere…"

* * *

 _Three men knocked at the Maximoff's front door; the first was a short man with a burly stature, the second one wore loose almost dirty clothes and twitched ever so often, the last was the tallest of the bunch with crooked glasses and pants that were too short. After a quick introduction, the visitors were promptly ushered into the house and directed towards the basement, where a silver-haired teenager playing ping-pong against himself. All three watched in awe as the kid seemed to appear on one side of the table, then disappear—only to reappear on the other side of the table in time to hit the ball back again. "What do you guys want? I didn't do anything—" the boy said, disappearing again._

 _"I've been here all day—" a voice behind them said._

 _The men turned around to see the same kid now sitting on the couch._

 _"Just relax, Peter. We're not cops," the burly visitor told the kid._

 _"Of course you're not. If you were, you wouldn't be driving a rental car," Peter said, bouncing his leg as he sat._

 _"How did you know we've got a rental car?" the druggie-looking one asked._

 _"I checked your registration while you were walking to the door. I also had some time to kill so I went through your rental agreement. Saw you were from out of town. Are you FBI?" Before any of them could answer, the kid appeared behind them, with the druggie's wallet._

 _"No, you're not cops. Hey, what's with_ _t_ _his gifted youngsters place?"_

 _Without waiting for a reply, the kid shrugged and dropped the wallet on the ground._

 _"That's a…" the duggie attempted to chastise, but was interrupted when the kid disappeared again, "That's an old card." He finally grumbled, snatching his wallet from the floor._

 _"He's fascinating," the spectacled one commented, speaking for the first time._

 _"No, he's a pain in the ass," The druggie argued._

 _"What is he? A teleporter?" The third asks the burly one._

 _"No. He's just fast," the burly one replied, "when I knew him he wasn't so... young."_

 _"Young? You're just old!" The kid tells him._

* * *

"Snap out of it!" I feel tiny hands on my face as I focus back on my reality.

"Sorry, Munchkin. Did you need me?" I ask my sister.

"No. Mom told me to come bug you. So that's what I'm doing," she said, crawling onto the bed with me.

"Since when do you do what your told?"

"Never!" she said with a shrug, "But you have the good markers."

"How about a deal? You can borrow my markers, _if_ you stay up here, out of mom's way, while I go bug Peter," I hold out my hand.

She shakes it eagerly, "Deal!"

I give her the markers and some paper, then head to the basement.

"You— You kleptomaniac, get to break into the Pentagon," an unknown voice says.

"One, how do I know I can trust you. And two, it's a two for one deal," my brother counters.  
"One, we are just like you. Show him," the same voice says.

There is a weird wet, squishy sound, then I hear my brother speak again,"That's cool, but disgusting."

"What did you mean about two for one?" a different, more rugged voice asks.

"I mean my sister is coming with us," my brother says. "We don't go against federal law and break into the Pentagon without the other. It's sort of a twin rule,"

I take this moment to slowly move into the room.

"Twin?" The rugged one asks.

"Twinning," My brother and I say at the same time.

All eyes snap to me, as my brother keeps talking, "Get it? We're twins, while we spend life winning—twinning!"

"Who are you?" The burly one asks me.

"My twin. Didn't we just cover this, old man?" Peter says.

"Hey, kid. Don't start with me. I never met her, and I find that fishy," he says pointing to me.

"Oh, how rude of me, for you to not already know me without so much as an introduction," I say crossing my arms and glaring. "Who are you all, since you seem to know so much about my brother, yet he doesn't seem to know any of you. How… fishy."

It's the quiet one that answers, "This is Charles," he says pointing to the druggie, "I'm Hank, and thats-"

"Logan," The burley one interrupts.

"Pleasure. I'm Wanda," I say as I give all three a good once over.

The burly one, Logan, seems anxious. The druggie, Charles, looks about ready to sell his soul for the next fix. While the last one, Hank, looks to be acting as the glue for the whole group. Nothing about them shouts 'trust worthy', then again, how trust worthy can people, who only just met you, be while asking for your help to break in the Pentagon? Yet, how many people can say they got a chance to break into the Pentagon?

So, Peter and I will trust them, what's the worst that can happen? We succeed?

"Right, well… We should get going," Charles says, breaking my train of thought.

I move out of the way, as the three visitors head up stairs, and give my brother a quick look.

 _"I don't trust them,"_ I hear my brother's thinking to me.

 _"I know, but what can we do? Would you rather stay home?" I ask in a teasing tone.  
_

 _He scoffs, "You really think I'm going to pass up a chance to break into the Pentagon?"_

 _"Never,"_ I wink back at him.

 _"Just promise me you'll stick close to me, if things go bad—we run."_

 _"I promise."  
_

He rests his forehead against mine, _"You and me, sis. Us against the world, as always."_

Then, he kisses my forehead before following the group out, leaving me to trail behind them all.

"Mom. We are running out for a bit with some friends. Might be back tomorrow. Love you!" Peter yells as we leave.

Neither of us stick around to hear her answer, knowing she's already a bottle in, and will be passed soon anyways.

"So… You all still haven't told us the plan…" Peter says as soon as the car doors shut.


	2. Jailbreak

"You ready for this?" Peter asks me, in probably the most serious tone I have ever heard from him.

"Yes," I tell him, "Are you?"

He nods going back to to staring at his watch instead of giving me a real answer.

"Good, because it's go time," he murmurs grabbing my hand.

With a death grip on his hand, I let my magic loose.

It tickles, just slightly, as it rolls over us both—hiding us from view. Together we walk steadily behind the guard responsible for walking the tray of food to the solitarily-confided prisoner. The man walks slowly, annoyingly slow. I can feel Peter shaking in anticipation next to me. If the situation wasn't so serious, I' would have laughed at his inability to stay at the guard's pace. Once we make it safely on to the elevator, Peter lets go of my hand to mess with the lone guard, tapping him on the shoulder—knowing full well that the guard couldn't see us.

I, however, just stood there, starring at the, now closed, clinically white elevator doors, that was our last chance to back out of the plan. If things go south from here on out, life could really turn to shit. I look back at Peter attempting to laugh quietly. My brother is my top priority. Not the group of hoodlums that asked for our help, and certainly not the guy we are breaking out. But my brother? Come hell or high water, he and I will be walking away from this without so much as a scratch.

But for right now, it's time to get to work. I release the magic hiding my brother and I.

The guard jumps, noticing Peter and I for the first time. We both give him our 'up to no good' smiles. Peter quickly duct tapes his mouth shut. Then, I pin him against the wall with my magic, holding him in place for Peter to strip him, then secure him further with the duck tape.

"What do you think we'll do after this?" Peter asks, now dressed in the guard's uniform.

"I don't know. I guess it depends on how much trouble this causes for us."

"What do you think the guy did? You know, the one we are breaking out."

"Something horrible, that's for sure."

"I bet it was epic. Can you image what a person has to do to be jailed at the Pentagon? Not your average criminal. And here we are, helping him break out. Mom would be so disappointed if she knew. Good thing she'll never find out, because we certainly won't tell her. Right, sis?"

The elevator rattles as we reach the bottom.

"Don't forget," I warn him, ignoring his ramblings, "you are the only one who can see me, so don't stare."

He chuckles, "that candy store owner still thinks I talk to myself. Would you relax? We've been doing this gig since we were 8 years old. I like to think we're both masters at it by now," he says with a roll of his eyes. "Master criminals. Should we get business cards?"

The doors slide open to a long overly lit hallway lined with armed guards on each side. I rush to keep stride with Peter, while trying to not make a sound. If reality didn't hit earlier, it sure hit now—one wrong move and we could be dead. Truly, utterly, completely dead.

Slowly, but surely, we reach the security check point at the end of the hallway. There is a metal detector, with two armed guards stationed at it. I pull my magic closer to me, hoping it will be enough to hide me from the scans.

Peter steps forward, into the machine.

I follow him, standing less than a step away from my brother.

The machine lights up.

I take a deep breath, holding it.

The light gets closer.

Will it work? Does magic beat technology.

The light passes over me, then Peter.

Nothing happens, no one says a word, but the next doors don't open.

Peter turns to look at the guards, with a quick glance at me.

Still nothing.

His foot starts twitching.

My lungs start burning.

Then, the doors open.

We passed.

I passed, they didn't notice me.

I let out the breath I forgot I was holding, and continue trailing Peter.

The doors open to another hallway. This one only has one guard in it, yet it's the same sterile white walls and overly bright lights.

How dangerous is this guy? And we're helping him escape! This has to be a joke, what could someone possible do to warrant this level of security? One elevator—in and out, multiple security check points, a whole squadron of armed guards whose only jobs are guarding this one prisoner…

We reach the end of the hallway and, again, nothing happens. We are just facing a dead end. Three identical walls surround us.

Peter gives me a look out of the corner of his eye.

"Stay calm. Whatever you do, act nonchalant," I whisper as lowly as I can.

He clears his throat and looks back at the other guard expectantly.

It seems like ages before the guard finally hits the button. There is a grinding noise, as the wall to our left begins to split apart, exposing a dark empty concrete room.

Peter enters.

I hesitate only for a moment, as the wall starts to shut again—I dash in after my brother.

"Smooth," he whispers, earning an exasperated look from me.

Once inside, I feel the air prickle around me as I come back into view.

We did it! We are in. We found him!

The only separating us from the person-of-interest is a thick layer of glass enclosing his cell.

"Alright. Let's do this!" Peter says with a little jump in his step.

He walks over to the hole in the floor. The man is being held in what looks to be a large dome carved out of the cement floor with a thick piece of glass leveled with the rest of the floor.

My brother slides the food tray, that also contains a politely written note, down to the man.

Together, my brother and I watch as the man's eyes dart up to us after reading the note.

His head jerks up, staring at us with cold haunted silver eyes.

I give him a friendly wave, though my thoughts raced.

The man, the person of interest, the prisoner, has silver eyes—icy silver eyes, like the sky right before a bad storm. His eyes spoke of bad omens and a history better left forgotten. But if I looked pass the weariness of his eyes, I saw silver—the same silver of my brother's eyes.

"Peter…" I start to ask him if he sees it, too.

"Let's get out of here first," he tells me as his hands are already shaking the glass.

"Right," I say, more to myself than Peter.

I rush over to kneel next to him. I wait, barely a moment more, for the glass to really get shaking before I slam my fist down on it, completely shattering it.

Unfortunately, that's what finally triggers the alarms. The prisoner jumps up, grabbing on to the edge of the cement floor and climbs out of the cell, as my brother watches the door, our only way out, seal shut.

"In three seconds, those doors are going to open," the prisoner says, "and 20 guards will be here to shoot us."

"I know. That's what we're waiting for," my brother tells the man.

I climb up on Peter's back, wrapping my legs tightly around him.

Peter grabs the man by the back of his neck.

"What are you doing?" The man asks.

"I'm holding your neck so you don't get whiplash," Peter says him with a shrug.

"Trust me, you'll be thankful for it in a moment," I tells him as I burrow my forehead into Peter's neck, bracing myself for what comes next.

"What?" the man asks confused as the door opens revealing 20 something odd guards.

"Don't move!" one of them yells.

I mentally roll my eyes, honestly, does he really think we broke in to the most secure building in the world, in order to break out the only prisoner here, just to 'freeze' when a guard orders?

I mean, honestly…

Peter moves, and in the next breath we are all back at the elevator. I stiffly climb off my brothers back and immediately go back to staring at the man—prisoner, while Peter gets out of the uniform.

 _What is it about this guy that feels so familiar?_

"Do you remember where we're meeting them?" Peter asks.

Both men turn to face me, staring at me with the same silver eyes.


	3. Mom Know's A Guy

"Don't worry, it'll pass. It happens to everyone," Peter tells him once he notices the guy is still bracing himself against the wall. When my brother gets no response he continues, "You must've done something serious. What you do?" Still no answer, but that has ever stopped my brother before, "What'd you do?" His voice turns to a sing song tone, "What'd you do? Why did they have you in there?"

The man rolls his eyes at my brothers antics, but answers him all the same, "For killing the President."

If it were any other situation I would have laughed long and hard at how quickly my brother's eyebrows skyrocketed. But in this case, _wow._

"If there's one thing I'm guilty of, it's fighting for people like us," he says, slipping into a preacher's voice. As if his reasoning justifies what he did.

"So, you didn't do it?" I ask, not knowing what to believe about the man.

"No. I was trying to save him. The world isn't kind to people like us."

"Us, mutants, or to us, who try to save others?" I don't get an answer, he just stares at me with an odd expression.

"They said that you can control metal…" Peter starts out.

"They?" The man asks.

Peter doesn't answer, instead he turns to me, "Didn't mom know a guy who could do that?"

"Yeah, but she talks about him in the same tone that she uses to talk about all the other assholes she's dated," I say with a shrug, "I never listened much when she does talk about him."

"No, but that's the guy she really hates," Peter pauses, "or really loves? Didn't he save someone or something?"

"Yeah, then she left him," I point out.

"I thought he left her?" Peter asks.

We both stop talking as he turns away from us to face the door. Peter looks over at me and raises an eyebrow.

Again, I shrug my shoulders, not knowing if it could be a freak coincidence or…

Mom could have known him…

Before anyone could comment more on the conversation, the elevator doors open to the Pentagon's staff kitchen, with the three visitors from earlier waiting for us.

"Charles?" the man asks the druggie, just in time for our new friend, Charles Xavier, to deck the man in the face. The hit makes him spin and slam into the side of the elevator.

"Good to see you, too, old friend. And walking!" the man says wiping his now bloody nose.

"No thanks to you!" Charles sneers.

"You are the last person in the world I expect to see here today," the man snarks.

"Believe me. I wouldn't be here if I didn't have to. If we are getting you out of here, we do it my way. No killing!" Charles tells him.

"No helmet. I could disobey you even if I wanted too," the man says with a shrug.

Peter and I share a look wondering what exactly happened to turn this jailbreak into a primetime soap opera.

"I'm never getting in that head again. I need your word, Erik!" Charles sneers at the man, whose name is apparently Erik.

The door on the other side of the room bust open with more guards, "Nobody move!" "Seriously?" Peter mumbles.

"Hold it right there!" another one shouts as we (the jailbreak squad) move into defensive positions. Peter and I elect to stand behind the strange men, letting them take care of it.

"Charles?" Erik asks expectantly, Charles just shakes his head in the negative.

"Hands up, or we will shoot!" a guard yells.

"Charles!" Erik yells, "Freeze them!"

"I can't," Charles mumbles.

The metal stoves and tables in the room start to shake.

Plates start to crash.

Silverware starts to levitate.

And Guns fire.

Peter must have had the same thought, because he nudges my shoulder and give me a nod. That's our top secret, unbreakable code for, 'let's kick some ass'.

Peter takes off running.

I push all of the bullets to the back wall and pull all of the guns to the ground towards us.

By the time I am done with that, all of the guards are on the ground and Peter is standing over by the door waiting for us.

"We blowing this joint, or what?" he asks with that cheeky grin of his.


	4. Fight For Something

"Scoot your butt towards the center," Peter tells me as I slide into the back seat.

"Now would be a good time to hurry," Hank tells us all.

I really shouldn't have been surprised, when my brother drops onto my lap to make room for both Erik and Logan in the back seat.

"So, I see you all are going to Paris…" Peter says as once everyone is safely buckled and the car starts moving.

It was one of mom's old rules she had for Peter. He wasn't allowed to talk, until the car started moving. Just as he wasn't allowed to talk to her until the groceries were put away, or until she's had at least one sip of her wine after dinner.

"What happened to your powers, Charles?" Erik asks, with an impressive amount of venom laced with each word.

"Hey! Lay off, buddy," Logan growls.

"Why couldn't you use them?" Erik asks, completely ignoring the burly man.

"It's not something I'm going to discuss with _you_ ," Charles says, his gaze remaining towards the window.

"What's in Paris?" I ask as no one seems to want to answer my brother's asked question.

"Then, what will you discuss? You've broken me out of prison, apparently with the much needed aid of two teenager—"

" _Much needed aid, to break out of prison,_ I think that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said about us, sister," Peter jokes.

"If I had my way, _nothing!_ I wouldn't be telling you anything! You know why?" Charles yells.

"It's right up there with that priest's remarks about us 'being destined for hell', and that one lady at the grocery store telling me, that I was the kind of 'feminism that killed Rome'."

"Oh, do tell me, Charles!" Erik mocks, "Why _wont_ you discuss your new lack of powers with me? Is it because you know I've already put together that you no longer have your powers, yet you can walk? Is it because I've already figured out that you sacrificed your abilities in exchange for—"

"What do you know of it?" Charles yells. "What do you know of difficult choices? Of having something to loose?"

"I've lost my fair share!" Erik yells back.

Charles scoffs, "Yes, a few years for being caught trying to murder the president!"

"You really think that all I've given up? You really think you know all that I've done?" This time, Erik's voice was quiet, just a breath above a whisper, with tones of promised violence. "You have no idea what I have done."

"I know you've taken the things that mean the most to me," Charles says, in a now calmer voice.

"Maybe you should have fought harder for them!" Erik's back to yelling.

Oddly, the yelling felt safer, than when he was almost silent.

"Really? You're going to give me advice on fighting harder for what you love? How many times have you thrown away your own happiness for ideas of a perfect world order?"

"Did you accidentally turn us invisible, sister?" Peter asks, not caring about the screaming men.

"At least I fight for something, rather than wasting away while the world falls to shit. What's my happiness in comparison to a safe world for people like us, for future generations?"

"And there forever lies your problem, Erik. You are willing to burn the world down, to kill anyone who stands in your way, all in the name for creating a 'safer world for people like us'!" Charles yells.

"Someone has to, you clearly have given up!" The car starts to shake. "You abandoned us. You forgot about us." The roof starts to contort. "Now you sit there, powerless, and you have the _nerve_ to tell me I'm going about it wrong? Governments are out there killing us. People are hunting our kind for sport. What are you doing about it?" I wrap my arms around Peter tightly. Logan lays his hand on my shoulder, giving both Peter and I an odd look.

Peter is staring unblinking at Erik.

"Other than dragging kids into our mess?" Erik continues, "We're suppose to protect them!"

"Metal dude!" Peter finally yells.

The man takes a deep breath, composing himself, while setting the car to rights.

"We're here," Hank informs us from the driver seat.

"Well, have fun in Paris," Peter says cheerily as if the fighting never happened.

Everyone hops out of the car. Hank and Charles grab their things and head in to the plane.

I move to get in to the front passenger seat, only to be stopped by a hand on my shoulder.

"Are you and your brother going to be okay heading home?" Erik asks in a low voice.

"I don't see why not…" I say, attempting to not care that he, a stranger, cares.

"That wasn't a smooth rescue. The alarm was triggered while we were all there. The government will be looking for me… and anyone who helped me."

"Thanks for your worry, honestly, but we'll be fine. We always are."

"In any case, if you ever aren't. There is a friend of mine—"

"Oh, we couldn't—"

"I insist. You and your brother played a huge role in my escape. The least I could do is make sure you don't suffer any consequence for it. If you are ever in need, call her. She'll know I sent you," he hands me a card with only a number written on it.

With a nod he leaves me for the plane. I slide into the car and wait for Peter to stop talking to Logan.

"So, what was that about?" Peter asks as he buckles and starts the car.

"I don't really know. He gave me a number 'in case we need it'. What did Logan want?"

"I think I discovered his weakness"

"What do you mean?"

"You know how he heals, and he's supper strong, and supper scary?"

"Yes."

"Well, I found his weakness."

"What is it?"

"Emotion. Or more specifically—other people's emotions. We had a whole conversation about how dad's not alway like that and he's more complex than a man just wanting to rule the world, all while avidly avoiding saying the words 'He's your father'. Trust me, I even tried to back him into a corner with it. Nothing."

"So, we really think Erik is our dad?" I ask.

"Yeah. Did you see his eyes? The man's got your temper."

"And your stubbornness."

"Not to mention, your hair."

"Hey! He and I have awesome chocolate brown hair. Don't hate on our hair just because yours wants early retirement, you grey haired old man!"

"Who you calling 'old man', you unsentimental spinster!"

"Unsentimental!" I yell.

"Really? That's the part you have issue with?" Peter jokes, before sobering, "think we'll ever see him again?"

We both look down at the card with a number written on it.


	5. Easy Go

'Drop of the car' the jet-setting druggie asked. 'Come on, it'll be easy' Peter said.

Right, because things are ever easy with us. Now, here we stand at the counter of the car rental place, with an overly talkative lady trying to process the paperwork as the TV in the lounge is blaring the latest news, 'Pentagon Prison Break, stay tuned for the rest of the story'.

Peter can't stop drumming his fingers on the counter.

 _"Breaking news, the FBI has just released eye-witness sketches of two, out of the four believed accomplices."_

Peter looks at me, I shrug my shoulders, not knowing what to do.

He pushes away from the counter, making his way through the lounge to the vending machines, buys himself a coke, then walks back.

"Well?" I whisper.

"The sketches aren't exact," he whispers back, "they messed up my nose, and they have your face shape all wrong."

The lady returns, full of smiles and puking sunshine.

"If you'll sign here," she asks, Peter scribbles out a random name, "Perfect. Well, that's it. You're free to go. Have a lovely day!" She smiles.

We don't smile back, instead turning to walk out to the street.

"What now?" Peter asks.

"I have no idea, no plan," I tell him honestly.

"How much trouble do you think we're in?" he asks.

"Let's just go home."

He nods in agreement. I start looking around to flag down a taxi.

Without warning, Peter grabs me by the waste and takes off running. In my next breath, we're home.

The street is empty, no one is outside. The house, our home, looks as it always does, grey stone walls, with white shutters around the windows, only today the blinds are drawn shut.

There is an underlying sense of foreboding about the house, impossible to pinpoint exactly, but like a cloud or mist that haunts the house.

Peter makes his way up the stone pathway, I follow.

"You two!" mother starts yelling as soon as we step in the house. "What have you done?"

"We don't know what—" Peter starts.

"Oh, cut that crap with me. I know, that you know, what I'm talking about!"

"Mom—" I start.

"Don't 'mom' me!" she drunkenly yells, "After everything I've done for you! Do you know what you've done? You found him—after everything I went through to hide you! How dare you!"

"Mom, we didn't—" Peter says.

"You didn't what? Didn't think I'd find out? You're goddamn faces are all over the news. You told me you were hanging out with friends! I believed you! Instead, you went and helped him escape! He's escaped! You left me to help him!"

The wine bottle she was holding crashes into the wall behind us.

"They asked us to help—"

"They? They! Those men? Those strangers, because you better tell me their strangers, come in to my house, and recruit my children for what? Their little 'mutant army'? Just like your father wanted! And you went! You helped him! How dare you!"

"Mom," I yell, trying to hold in tears. I can hear our younger sister whimpering by the stairs.

"You choose him! You two are just like him, mutants, but you were my kids! I loved you, despite your freakishness—"

"Mother!" my voice cracks.

"But you're just like him! Just like you're father, with your abnormal abilities. I put up with it, all these years, because I thought you'd be different! I wanted you to be different!"

"So you lied!" Peter yells back with equal anger, "Every time we asked about our father, you'd blow us off. You'd tell us that you didn't know. You knew! You knew this whole time!"

"Of course I knew! What did you want me to say? That, that monster loved you? That he cares more about you, than he does about his 'grand plans'? He left. He doesn't care, Peter! He never cared! Not about me, certainly not about you! He doesn't want a family, or kids. He wants an army. He'd never love you! But I loved you!"

My cheeks were soaked with tears, Peters hand tightened around mine, like he could tell what was coming next.

"No more," she yelled. "I'm done. I have to protect my daughter—my normal, perfect daughter. I can't let you endanger her anymore. You have to leave!"

I shake my head, words failing me.

"Mom," Peter begs, voice broken and hollow.

"Get out. Everyone is looking for you. It'll only be a matter of time before they track down a grey haired teenager to my front door. Those men earlier already did it. You both need to leave."

"It's silver," Peter says weakly, "my hair. It's silver not grey."

"I don't care anymore," mother says.

Peter pulls my arm, leading me up the stairs.

"Wanda," he says, grabbing my shoulders, "Sis, I need you to keep it together. Do you hear me?"  
I nod.

"I need you to take you bag and fill it with easy to wash clothes; t-shirts, jeans, a lot of socks and underwear. Can you do that?"

I nod.

"Okay. Then, I need you to fill another bag with anything we can pawn; jewelry, nicknacks, safe-keepings, anything small and valuable."  
I nod, again.

He kisses the top of my head, "We're gonna be okay. I promise."


End file.
